


Chainsmoking and Personal Space

by singleword



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Denial, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-19
Updated: 2005-03-19
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singleword/pseuds/singleword
Summary: And so somehow his rules blurred, and he told himself that he got close because he was looking for what only he was able to see. Generally that worked. Dealing with the unpleasant or with strangers he had excuses. But not with...





	Chainsmoking and Personal Space

He didn't get close to people, as a general rule. Demons, sure. To whisper "This is John Constantine.. asshole," and to hear the reply shiver the air, you had to be close. He'd always paid closer attention to things than anyone else, staring at reflections that rippled at the edges and turning to see what lurked at the corners of his vision. Staring through the hollow space in an iris so hard the retina withered necessitated standing within another's phonebooth of space.

And so somehow his rules blurred, and he told himself that he got close because he was looking for what only he was able to see. Generally that worked. Dealing with the unpleasant or with strangers he had excuses. But not with ...

He'd gone over the kid's place once or twice, when he was low on coffee at his own apartment or he didn't finish a job until late (but only ever when it was safe, when the ether was quiet, when shadows faded from the edge of vision and no one he saw had wings). And Chas would hand him a chipped mug and put a plate by his chair for an ashtray, and he'd leave the tv on with the volume low and he'd talk. Incessantly. As if it didn't matter that John didn't say anything back, as if what sneers or cynicisms he did contribute were encouragements and praise. But then the kid had always been a sickening optimist, despite everything he'd seen.

And space didn't matter so much, not when Chas' place was so small. Phonebooths shrank when you had to brush shoulders to both stand in the kitchen, when John would try stretch his legs and have to fold them over the kid's. And sitting so close to someone, and looking as close as John always did, you couldn't help but see things. Brightness, for example. Flickering light from the television glowing over hands that moved like punctuation marks, glowing so you'd forget the muscle and tendons and bones, the firing synapses and electric impulses. And a smile would distract you, even if you were looking like John always did, so, (like John) you'd see a soul and a person talking and laughing and easily fitting into your space. And you wouldn't mind.

Chas was clever about it. He knew John came with rules and conditions and provisos, so he'd drop a sentence half

_\- a hand cupped around a jaw, half closed eyes and lips on lips. pressure, feeling -_

way through and

_\- tilting his head to one side, opening his mouth just a little -_

pretend like it was never

_\- breath, lips and the tip of his tongue, warmth then heat and a hand sliding down his neck -_

interrupted. Sometimes though, he'd forget what he was saying by the time he got opportunity to speak again, but John never asked what he'd been on about anyway and Chas never mentioned being distracted. He knew just enough to guess how to work around John. He knew not to look too long at the scars, or the tattoos. He knew never to trace the lines of them - not only because John wouldn't let him but because of what might be invoked. In John's line of business, no action was to be made lightly, and thus Chas always let John initiate the interruption. Which suited John, because he could always fall back on the excuse that there was no other way to make ChaS shut up, if all else failed.

But the situation worked, such as it was, and somehow it didn't cause all the problems it could have done. There were some instances where John would forget that he didn't get close to people, and shoulders would brush or knees would bump where there was really room enough for them not to. But no one would ever say anything. And John would just look at Chas' eyes where most people had a hollow space in their iris. There'd be a split second silence.

And then Chas would say something or laugh or slip easily out of John's space. And John would draw nicotine rather than brightness, and pretend he didn't mind.


End file.
